Crowns, Sashes, and the Shape of a Body: How Beauty Pageants Taught Us to Objectify Ourselves

As a tween and teen in the '80s-'90s, one of the highlights of my year was sleeping over at my best friend's house to watch the Miss America pageant. We’d grab snacks, cozy up in our pajamas, and turn the living room into our own little judging panel. Long before “watch parties” were even a thing, we made an event of it. We commented on gowns, the talent routines, and yes, ranking our favorites.

It felt like innocent fun. A tradition. Something girls did.

But looking back, I can see that I was participating in something that was quietly shaping my beliefs about women’s bodies, including my own. It wasn’t just about crowns or gown, I was learning who was allowed to be seen, celebrated, and chosen.

And I didn’t know it then, but beauty pageants themselves are deeply rooted in a cultural moment where women were gaining political power. The system around women were scrambling to keep our appearance in check.

A Crown for Every Vote?

The very first Miss America pageant took place in 1921, just one year after women won the right to vote in the United States. Think about that timing: as women were being recognized as full citizens under the law, suddenly a national contest emerged to rank and judge them. This time, not by their civic potential, but by their looks. Coincidence? Maybe. But maybe not!!

Beauty pageants offered a version of womanhood that was visually appealing, non-threatening, and contained. You could have a voice, but only if you just make sure your voice came with a tiny waist, flawless skin, and a swimsuit that hugged all the “right” places. As women’s rights were expanding, beauty standards were tightening.

Miss America and other pageants became a cultural blueprint for what “acceptable” femininity looked like. You could be ambitious, educated, and talented as long as you were also thin, white, conventionally attractive, and willing to parade in heels for a panel of judges. And I internalized that blueprint early.

Internalized Objectification, Tween Edition

I didn’t just watch those pageants. I studied them. I became a little judge-in-training, learning how to rate and rank bodies. Even as I rooted for my favorite contestant, I was secretly wondering if I’d ever measure up. Would my body ever be worthy of a crown?

Of course, I didn’t know the language of “objectification” at the time. But I knew how to scan a room and instinctively place myself in a hierarchy. I knew what bodies were praised and which ones were quietly erased. That messaging stuck.

It’s not that beauty or talent are bad things. It’s that the pageant world and the broader culture around it taught us that those things only mattered if they fit inside a very narrow frame. Even the “scholarship” angle couldn’t mask the underlying truth: a contestant’s value was always, at least partially, tied to how well she conformed to a very narrow standard of beauty. Don’t believe me, have you questioned why there were no beauty pageants for men?!?!

From Scorecards to Self-Compassion

Years later, through my own healing and through my work as a fat-positive dietitian, I’ve come to see just how many of us are still carrying those old scorecards. The ones we used to rate contestants? We turn them on ourselves every time we look in the mirror. Every time we step on a scale. Every time we say, “I’ll feel better when I lose X pounds.”

My clients come to me thinking their body is the problem. But the real issue is the system that taught us to treat our bodies like competitions.

These days, I’m not interested in crowns. I’m interested in rebellion. I’m interested in helping people build a relationship with their body that isn’t about being seen, scored, or sized up, but about being present and alive.

Body image healing is not about giving up on beauty it’s about expanding the definition of it until every body has a place. It’s about honoring the fullness of your humanity, not just the parts that fit the mold.

Holding Both: Nostalgia and Truth

I still feel a strange sweetness when I think about those pageant nights with my best friend. The snacks. The silly jokes. The bonding. That’s real. And so is the harm that happened alongside it.

We can hold both: the joy of girlhood connection and the harm of internalized objectification.

And we can write new scripts.

It’s about honoring our bodies for how they carry us through life, not how well they perform for someone else’s gaze. It’s about letting go of scorecards and embracing our bodies as home not a competition. And it’s about holding space for the younger versions of ourselves who were just trying to fit in, trying to feel beautiful, trying to win something we never needed to compete for in the first place.

We can raise kids who know their bodies aren’t up for scoring. We can raise ourselves, again, with softness and spaciousness. And we can retire the old judges in our heads!